The Measure of You
by Teobi
Summary: 36, 22, 36. "The atomic weight of sodium hydrochloride." Who was he fooling? Pinger fluff. Complete.


**A/N:** Just a bit of Pinger sweetness, inspired by a PM session with Doll Girl about the mind reading seeds episode. Hope you all enjoy!

**The Measure of You**

_Professor: "All right, Ginger, read my mind."_

_Ginger: "36...22...36."_

_Professor: "Well, that's just the atomic weight of sodium hydrochloride."_

_Gilligan: "Oh no, Professor. you were thinking about Ginger's..."_

_Professor: "Never mind, Gilligan!"_

- '_Seer Gilligan', season two_

It was over. A determined Gilligan had incinerated every last bush and all the mind reading seeds were gone. Peace and quiet had once again descended over their little homestead- at least for now.

The Professor sat at his table, staring tiredly at the pages of his book on tropical plants. He wondered if the ancient mystics had ever fought with each other the way the castaways had, squabbling over who did the most work or whose fault it was that something had happened. _People are people,_ he thought, resignedly. _Even the ancients would have had their petty quarrels. _

He ran his fingers through his hair, closed his eyes and sighed. Gilligan was right- wishing for World Peace was a stupid idea. What was he, a naive little beauty queen? There would never be world peace while humans were so petty, always wanting what they couldn't have, or more of what they already possessed. He turned a page, but he wasn't really reading, just looking at all the little squiggles and intricate illustrations.

Being as distracted as he was, the Professor didn't hear the door to the Supply Hut slowly opening. He didn't register that someone was walking across the room towards him until that person was directly behind him, leaning over his left shoulder. The first sign that he wasn't alone was a tickling of someone else's scent wafting up his nose- a sweet, gentle mixture of flowers, spices and warm, human skin. The second sign was the beautiful murmur of a female voice dusting over his earlobe and sliding sensuously into his brain.

"36, 22, 36?" she teased, ending her breathy whisper with a lilting chuckle.

The Professor leaned back in his chair and looked up at her. _Her skin is so pale it's almost translucent._

"Ginger," he smiled. She was so close that he could actually taste her scent. _A delightful mixing of the senses,_ he thought, hoping he wouldn't suddenly break out in a sweat.

"Hello, Professor," she smiled back. "Busy?"

"Just reading up on those seeds," he replied, waving his hand over the book. "Although it hardly matters now that they're all gone."

Ginger stood behind the chair with her arm almost brushing the back of the Professor's neck. "Gilligan did the right thing, for once."

"He did," the Professor nodded. "But it's a tragedy to lose such a valuable plant again, after thinking it had been extinct for centuries."

Ginger lifted her hand and toyed with a strand of the Professor's hair. "Not such a tragedy if it stops people fighting," she smiled.

The Professor swallowed, his head instinctively turning towards Ginger's hand. "Indeed," he said, his voice nearly cracking.

"36, 22, 36," Ginger murmured again, almost to herself.

"I told you, Ginger, it's the atomic weight of sodium hydroch..." the Professor's voice hitched as Ginger's fingertip touched the curve of his right ear, "...loride."

"How interesting," Ginger teased. "You learn something new every day."

The Professor closed his book and attempted to get up from the chair but Ginger pressed him down again and he stopped resisting. He felt his eyes drift shut as her voice caressed his brain once again, interfering with its regular electrical impulses.

"It's a fascinating thing, isn't it, Professor? The human mind."

"Uh.." he stammered, like a schoolboy.

"I mean, all those thoughts going round and round- the atomic weight of sodium hydrochloride, the index of refraction, hula dancers in grass skirts..."

"That was Skipper's thought, not mine," he protested, feebly.

"Sines and cosines," Ginger laughed. "I haven't a clue what it all means. But then, I'm just a girl."

The Professor pulled at his unbuttoned collar, loosening it still further. "Believe me Ginger, you are not 'just a girl'," he found himself saying.

Ginger leaned down until her lips were mere millimeters from the Professor's ear. "According to Mary Ann, I'm a..." she cupped her hand and whispered.

The Professor coughed. He was beginning to find it unbearably hot in the Supply Hut and suddenly wished he could run down the beach and straight into the cooling waters of the lagoon, clothes and all.

"I hardly think..." he stuttered.

"I know," Ginger said in a scolding tone. "The nerve of her!"

"You are certainly voluptuous," the Professor continued, "and I would imagine there are many men who _would_ find that tempting. But I can assure you, Ginger, _I_ would never think..."

"I know you wouldn't," Ginger cooed. "You're more interested in the atomic weight of sodium hydrochloride." She sighed loudly and walked away from the chair. The Professor felt a distinct drop in room temperature, welcoming the cooling breeze that drifted over the nape of his neck, taking the place of the disconcerting heat radiating from her body.

"I _had_ hoped the ability to read minds might have brought peace to the world." He wondered if it was a good idea to confess this to her if even Gilligan had thought it was a stupid idea, but he persevered anyway. "Imagine the leaders of every country finding out they all wanted the same thing- nothing more than prosperity for their people."

"It's a noble thought," Ginger said, crossing over to the window. She gazed across the clearing to see the Skipper and Mr. Howell in the middle of what looked like another heated exchange, and her brow furrowed. "But people will _always_ want more. We forget the important things in life."

"Yes, like science and mathematics," said the Professor, making a mental note of the way she caressed her upper arms as she hugged herself almost protectively.

"I was thinking more of beauty, love and music," Ginger said, her lips parting over perfect white teeth. "People want romance in their lives. That's why the movies are so popular."

The Professor folded his arms and tucked his hands in under his armpits. "I happen to think science and mathematics are romantic," he chanced. "There is a certain beauty in numbers, their consistency, their reliability to always add up."

"Like 36, 22, 36?" Ginger raised her eyebrow, smiling at him across the room.

"That's just one example," he said, tilting his head, regarding her down the length of his nose.

They watched each other for a little while. The Professor noted the way her skin glowed in the afternoon light, the way the lowering sun cast a halo around her flame red tresses. She appeared lit from within, the very essence of fire, but at the same time she was cool, like a tall drink of water on a hot day. She burned him and refreshed him, she calmed him down and made his heart race, all at the same time. She was an enigma, a puzzle that would possibly never be solved, like Fermat's Last Theorem in the shape of a girl.

Butterflies danced in the pit of his stomach. It was probably a good thing that the seeds didn't read emotions as well as thoughts, he decided with some relief.

It was Ginger who looked away first, dropping her gaze almost shyly. She left the window, uncrossed her arms and let them drop to her sides where they rested against the sensual curve of her hips. She faced him for a moment so that he could drink in the sight of her, and then she drifted over to the door.

"I'll leave you in peace," she said, her eyes flickering playfully towards his pile of books. "See you at dinner." And with that, she was gone, leaving the Professor with a whirlwind of thoughts that would have confused even the most experienced of mystic ancient mind readers.

...

After dinner, during which the Professor picked at food he normally would have enjoyed, he caught up with Ginger as she took an evening stroll around the perimeter of the huts. She turned around as he approached, almost as if she'd been waiting for him.

"Ginger," he started, but then realised he didn't know what it was he wanted to say, or even how to say it. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Yes, Professor?" she smiled, her curious eyes gleaming in the soft light of the tiki torches.

He cleared his throat, rubbed the palms of his hands on the seat of his khaki pants, and jumped straight in before his nerves got the better of him and sent him running back to the safety of the Supply Hut.

"About the atomic weight of sodium hydrochloride..."

Ginger's low, throaty chuckle vibrated somewhere deep inside his chest and set his heart spinning.

"It isn't 36, 22, 36," she said, as though sharing a naughty secret with him.

"It isn't?" The Professor blinked in the half light. "I mean, that's correct, it isn't. But how...?"

Ginger leaned towards him in a conspiratorial fashion. "I looked it up in your book," she whispered. "But you didn't lie completely- the atomic weight of sodium _is_ 22."

The Professor blushed deeply, but the reddening of his skin was negated by the torch light, for which he was exceedingly thankful.

"So perhaps you were right," Ginger went on, lifting a slender arm and trailing her fingertip over the area of tan skin visible through his open collar. "There _is_ a certain beauty in numbers."

The Professor took a deep breath and moved closer to her until there was barely a hair's breadth between them. He put his shaking hands gently on either side of her waist, feeling the tiny beads of her gown pressing into his fingertips, waiting for her to shake him off or reject him, but she didn't. Their bodies pressed together and he spoke quietly, his mouth moving against her mango scented hair. "Some numbers are rounded and smooth, like worn pebbles on the beach, and some numbers are jagged and sharp, like slivers of broken glass. But all of them are beautiful, and all of them endlessly fascinate me." Secretly he thanked the moon and stars for letting him say all of that without stumbling even once. _You can be a silver tongued devil when you want to be, Roy Hinkley,_ he thought happily.

Ginger's delighted sigh escaped her throat like the soft mew of a newborn kitten. She slipped her arms around the Professor's neck and tilted her face towards him, gazing at him expectantly. "Gilligan was right," she smiled. "You _were_ thinking about me, weren't you?

"I was," he admitted with a nod. "And I've decided that 36, 22, 36, while not actually the atomic weight of sodium hydrochloride, is definitely a numerical combination deserving of further study."

Ginger pressed herself against him and brought her lips close to his, offering him their plump, berry scented sweetness. "Kiss me," she murmured. "You mad, scientific fool, you."

And he did.


End file.
